Not Dead
by Sherlock Holmes of 221B
Summary: After the fall, Sherlock went to dismantle Moriarty's web. Nearly two years have passed. However, he walks into a trap set even before he'd ever faked his death. After being captured, he's informed that his effort in dismantling Moriarty's web was all for naught: The web was being repaired after every attack. How will he ever get back to John now? K for suspense and small battles.
1. Prologue

Not Dead

Prologue

**_*I have completely plotted out this fanfiction and will follow the plotting closely. That means I should update regularly, but no promises. I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal. Follow, favorite, and review. Thank you.*_**

When Sherlock became sure of Moriarty's intention to make him jump off of St. Bart's, he had gotten help from his brother, some of his homeless network, and Molly. Due to their help, he was ready, upon meeting Moriarty for the last time, on the roof of St. Bart's. Of course, Moriarty shooting himself had surprised Sherlock and left him dismayed, but the plan went through anyway.

After he had left his note, his 'final goodbye' to John, the plan was executed. On his brother's text, announcing that Operation Lazarus was go, he jumped off the roof. He landed on the pre-inflated airbag, but he didn't linger: Speed became paramount.

He rolled off the airbag,which was hastily deflated and put away. He moved out of the way, with a few others, staying out of John's line of sight, as he heard the doppleganger hit the sidewalk. The people with him worked on the makeup quickly, making his fall convincing. In that time, John was knocked over by a bicyclist. The doppleganger was dragged away, and Sherlock took its place. Once the fake blood was spatter on the sidewalk, everything was set.

Then came the tricky part: convincing John. A rubber ball was under Sherlock's arm, and he was completely still. He could hear John pushing his way through the crowd, trying to get to him. The latter could hear the pain in John's voice as his pulse was taken. That was the hardest part: not moving, not crying out to let John know he was alright. But he managed it: John thought he was dead, and the former's voice was full of audible anguish when Sherlock was rolled over. The latter was lifted onto a stretcher.

That was it: The plan was finished. The time to start his mission, to take down Moriarty's web, had begun.

* * *

Sherlock shook his head, ridding his mind of those memories for a while. Reminiscing would not help him get back to London, back to John. Only redoubling his efforts would do that. The sooner he finished his mission, the better.

For two years, he had been working on dismantling Moriarty's web. It wasn't terribly difficult, but it _was _terribly time-consuming. Two years, and he'd taken down (arrested) around a thousand men. That was good: According to Mycroft's information, he should have been nearly done with his mission.

One of the final pieces of the puzzle was an area in France that was heavily forested. That was where he was staying. He'd rented a hotal room, where he was staying until his task was completed.

He stood from the chair he was sitting in, and went to the door. He pulled his coat off of the coat rack and put it on. After that, he put his shoes on. He saved the best for last: He put his scarf on after everything else. He then headed out.

Upon leaving his hotel, Sherlock headed to the nearby forest. That was where the part of the web he was going to take down was.

He trekked through the trees and growth on the forest floor until he found what he was looking for: a path. After he had found it, he padded down it. He knew he had to be getting close, after a few minutes. After all, he had mapped out the area.

Just a little while before he would have reached his destination, a voice stopped him. the voice was unfamiliar, and dripping with malice. But the sheer fact that its owner recognized him sent a greater chill down his spine than anything.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes. I've been expecting you..."


	2. Found

Not Dead

Found

_***Hello readers... I'm going to update this story frequently, I hope. If not, sorry! I do not own Sherlock. Sherlock is property of the BBC. Do not steal. Follow, favorite, and review. Thank you.***_

Sherlock was shocked. How had he managed to let himself be found? By one of Moriarty's men, too. With a barely audible sigh, he turned around to face the man. He was tall, with a muscular build, and clear military training in the past. There was no doubt that the man had worked for Moriarty. Deciding that trying to overcome the man physically would be a terribly idiotic thing to do, he started trying to talk his way out.

"You were expecting me?" he asked, playing dumb.

"Oh yes... For quite a while now, actually. I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to show." the man said carelessly, as though he couldn't care less.

"How do you know who I am? How did you know I would be coming?"

"I represent an interested party, Mr. Holmes."

"Interested in me? Or just my services?"

"You. They've been dogging your steps for quite a while, now."

"Why is that?"

"You're breaking rules, Mr. Holmes. They don't like that."

"So... What, are you going to kill me?"

"My party has no interest in you dead, Mr. Holmes!" the man cried.

Suddenly, the man pounced on Sherlock, tackling him to the ground. Before Sherlock could do anything more than cry out, the man had cuffed his wrists. He was about to struggle when the man grabbed him and pulled him up. The way the man held him prevented him from struggling.

"No, I'm not going to kill you. I don't think they're going to, either. After all, they're having me bring you to them alive." the man said. "Now, you're going to come quietly, or I'll have to sedate you. That would be a waste of sedative."

Sherlock sighed, and nodded. He knew his situation was inescapable; he would not make it worse for himself by struggling.

The man led him out of the forest and to the nearest road, where a car was waiting. He put Sherlock in the back, and got into the driver seat. They rode along for a while in silence.

Sherlock just stared out one of the windows, at the scenery. The whole ride was full of him being ashamed of himself for being so easily caught, and wondering who the interested party was.

Eventually, they came to a stop. Sherlock was pulled out, and immediately blindfolded.

"Wouldn't blindfold you, Mr. Holmes, but my... employers... are familiar with your deducing abilities." the man said.

"Do I know them, then?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Answering you would be giving them away. I'm not stupid, Mr. Holmes."

"In comparison to me, you are." Sherlock said. His face was suddenly hit by a hard slap.

"Conversation is a luxury, not a right. Hold your tongue if you can't show respect." the man said, in a light voice that did not suit his words or actions.

Sherlock was then pushed, though not knocked down. He took that as a signal to go. Pushed guided him, and occasionally, he was grabbed by the shoulders and turned. He soon found himself aboard a plane. He was seated in a chair that was actually rather comfortable.

"Feel free to sleep, Mr. Holmes. It may be a while before any interesting events occur." the man said.

Sherlock heeded his words, and quickly fell asleep.

* * *

When he woke up again, someone was shaking him. He knew it was the man who had brought him there, even though his eyes were still covered by the blindfold. He stood up, and stretched. As soon as he had finished stretching, he was guided out of the plane.

They got into another car shortly after leaving the plane. Once again, he was put into the back seat. He remained blindfolded this time, though, so he couldn't look out a window. Bored, with nothing else to do, he went to his mind palace so that he could ponder the man and the "interested party".

Eventually, he became aware of the man speaking to him. He blinked, and determined that the man had no idea that he wasn't listening.

"-they're amused, you see, that you thought yourself so above others, and yet, you got caught easily. But,-"

"-sir-" Sherlock tried to interrupt, but the man didn't hear him.

"-they're grateful that you didn't make this harder-"

"SIR."

"-than it needs to be..."

"SIR!"

"What?!"

"I didn't hear half of what you said!"

"Your own loss, then."

Sherlock sighed. His day had gone completely downhill. He was getting sidetracked! At this rate, he would never get back to John.

"This 'interested party' of yours... If you won't tell me who they are, would you at least tell me what their intentions are for me?" he asked.

"Not much to tell you. You'll be held as a prisoner for a time because of what you did, and then for more time to guarantee your silence. They have no desire to be revealed to anyone besides yourself." the man replied.

"What, your employers can't threaten me? Or trust my word?"

"Mr. Holmes, they know how much of a liar you can be."

"That still leaves open the option of threatening me. Why not do that?"

"Threatening you does not guarantee your silence. We're not stupid. Besides, they would only want to do it in person, and if left free, you would definitely tell."

"I'm sure they wouldn't know what I would or would not do."

"More than you think. Anyway, we've arrived. Everything should start to make sense, soon."

The car stopped, and Sherlock heard the front door of the car open. He heard the man get out of the car, and shut the door. A moment later, Sherlock's door was opened. Sherlock was pulled out, and the door was closed. He heard the lock of the car, and then found himself being pushed. He was guided into a cool building, where he walked for a while.

Eventually, the guiding ceased. Sherlock figured that that must have meant that he was at his destination. His cuffs were unlocked and removed, and the man left, locking the door of the room behind himself.

When all was quiet, Sherlock removed his blindfold. He was in a prison cell, or at least, it seemed that way.

* * *

He had sat alone in the cell for a while, a bit confused. The man who had brought him said that everything should have started to make sense, but he was more confused than ever. Eventually, though, he heard footsteps. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when the door opened.

There in the doorway stood none other than Jim Moriarty, the Consulting Criminal. The two of them just stared at each other; for how long, Sherlock couldn't tell. Eventually, Jim stepped into the cell, closing the door behind himself, and disregarded Sherlock's unmasked shock.

"It's been much too long, Sherlock..." he said serenely. "I was almost afraid something had happened to you, but of course, I would have known in a second if that had been the case."

Sherlock, in his stunned state, said nothing.

"What, cat got your tongue, Sherlock? Didn't you notice my web, as you put it, being... repaired after each of your attacks? Oh, you do disappoint! But, now that you know that I'm the interested party, you do know why you're here, right?" Jim said, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Come now, don't be daft..."

"You saw me as a gnat or fly, did you not?" Sherlock said at last. "A pest, who thinks they do more damage than they actually do, to be crushed?"

"Crush you? No, no, no, no, no. Wonderful analogy, Sherlock, it really is, and clever too. All I would change would be my crushing you. I am a spider as you so put it, so it's really my job to _trap _you. But I won't eat you. That is considered cannibalism, my dear, and is, in fact, frowned upon in most societies." Jim said cheerfully. In spite of his shock and feeling that his personal safety was in jeopardy, Sherlock laughed at Jim's reference.

"Well, you've trapped me." Sherlock said. "What now?"

"You stay here." Jim said promptly. "That way, you don't peep a word to anyone about me... and you stop buzzing around and being a nuisance." He then turned and walked out, closing the door behind himself.

* * *

About a minute after Jim left, the door opened and he walked back in. Once more, he took care to close the door immediately upon entry.

"You made a phone call." Sherlock observed. "Why for?"

"Ooh, you're good." Jim said, cheerfully. "Well, if you must know... Molly Hooper will be dead shortly, if she is not already. Consider it a warning. Act up, and all of your friends will die. One by one. Consider yourself lucky that I didn't have them shot the second you dared defy me."

"No!" Sherlock exclaimed, springing up from his seat. Jim sighed, and then, faster than Sherlock could react, he snapped a pair of handcuffs onto Sherlock's wrists.

"_Behave_." Jim drawled. "I shall tell you now how I faked my death, and why. I have a brother, did you know? Well, had. A twin, as unlikely as that is. Gives a new meaning to the term, 'evil twin', doesn't it? Anyway, moving on. The poor darling was ready to do anything to protect me. He refused to the the bad in me. When I told him my life was in danger, he offered to take the bullet for me, loyal, lovely thing that he was. He died up on the rooftop, allowing me to continue."

"You're vile." Sherlock snarled. "Your own brother! Your own _twin_! And you let him die for you! Why would you do that?"

"I revealed myself to the world for your sake, and your sake alone. Don't you feel special? But once I decided you were going to disappear (I intended for you to die, but disappear was just as good), I knew there would be no point in lingering. I decided to disappear again." Jim replied, like it was nothing.

"Moving along, then. Why didn't you just threaten me for my silence?" Sherlock asked.

"I know how you are, Sherlock. You don't like to be controlled or beaten. You would have told my secret, and consequences be damned." Jim replied.

"You can be sure of that, can you?"

"You wouldn't back off after I threatened you last time. I'm not stupid." Jim replied with a sneer. "You're being kept alive because I would consider it a travesty to kill my equal, now. Don't push it."

"So, what; I'm just here for you to look at and appreciate?"

"Oh, Sherlock, I don't need to look at you to appreciate you. But there are things I appreciate when I look at you. In any case, I'm going to go. You'll live somewhat comfortably. You may even be fortunate enough to look into my web and see how it dances. By then, I'm sure you'll be so bored that you'd want to help me plan things. For stimulation, you know. Later, Sher." Jim said. He then walked out, closed the door behind himself, and did not re-enter.


End file.
